"What organization?"

Morgan hesitated. It was a moment too long for Jack, who was already impatient.

"What organization, goddamn it?"

Since O'Neill looked ready to throttle him with his bare hands – forget whatever was in the vial – Morgan blanched.

"The Trust."

"What's that?"

How he wished O'Neill would just ask simple questions that he could lie about! Morgan fleetingly wondered how Leaf was going to spin this fiasco into something that was less harmful, but he answered, because he didn't have a choice.

"It's a group… made up of the remnants of what's left of the NID."

"With the same lack of morals, I suppose?"

He shouldn't have been surprised that the NID had been behind this – even though they'd thought the organization to be disbanded and gone, since they hadn't heard any reports of problems with any of their allies. The people that made up that group had been cockroaches – and obviously survived like cockroaches, too; living well beyond when they should have died out.

Morgan flashed Jack a look of anger, his own frustration boiling out over his fear.

"There's nothing wrong with expecting the people we call allies to share their technology, O'Neill."

"And if they don't, we'll just steal it?" Jack asked sarcastically.

"If we have to."

It was only one small part of the reason Jack hated the NID, but it also wasn't something he was going to debate.

"What does this group… the Trust… want with River Hayden?"

"We were hoping to recruit him."

"Why?"

River was far too good a guy – in Jack's opinion – to want anything to do with anyone like Morgan.

"Because."

Jack lifted the syringe, which had been in his hand resting on the cast on Morgan's left leg, and Morgan felt the fear once more rise up in him, taking place of the anger at O'Neill's righteous arrogance.

"Because we need men like him. He's young and intelligent."

"You're holding something back, Morgan…" Jack said, watching the man's face. "What?"

"He's also friends with Ian Brooks – and we really wanted Ian Brooks."

"You're kidding!"

He was amazed that anyone would be interested in Ian joining their secret little society, but only for a moment. Then Jack's own quick mind filled in the pieces. If they wanted intelligent young men, Ian would definitely be at the top of any list. There was no one smarter, and it was very likely the Trust wanted young men because they'd assumed a younger person would be more malleable, or maybe more willing to break the rules to get to any end.

"Why didn't you just ask Ian?" Jack asked. "Why bother with-"

"We did. He wasn't very receptive."

Jack's eyes widened slightly, showing surprise he hadn't actually meant to allow to show.

"You asked him?"

Ian hadn't mentioned anyone approaching him lately.

Morgan scowled.

"We didn't get that far… he wouldn't even listen to what we had to say. The-"

"So you figured to get him by going through his friends…"

"Yes."

"Including my son."

"No!" Morgan tried to raise his hand in denial, but the restraint stopped him. "We didn't want anything to do with your son, O'Neill. Him being there wasn't our doing. I was specifically told to keep away from him, and-"

"He got shot!" Jack growled. "And whether you meant for it to happen or not, it's your fault you slimy piece of-"

"I didn't do it!"

"Tell me more about why the Trust wanted Ian," Jack said, knowing full well that as scared as Morgan was just then, he'd actually tell the truth. He didn't even need the threat of the syringe, now. "And why you actually thought you'd be able to tell him anything that would get him to join any group of weasels like yourselves."

OOOOOOOOO

Janet held the syringe up to the light, carefully making sure there were no air bubbles in the small tube before placing the needle against Ian's neck. Synthetic adrenaline wasn't something that was all that dangerous – especially for someone young and healthy like Ian was – but an air bubble could be a simple mistake that could kill anyone. And she was far too experienced to screw up like that.

"Okay, young man," she told him, softly, as she injected him. "Time to wake up and tell me what's going on with you."

She couldn't possibly have known what she'd just done.

Ian Brooks was exhausted. Not simply weary, his body had shut itself down, because in healing his two friends, he'd drained himself far beyond that of simply jogging – or anything else that was seriously strenuous, including being badly injured. He needed to restore those resources, and to do that, he needed to sleep. A deep sleep that was mystifying to Fraiser and the other doctors but wasn't dangerous. Unless something was artificially added into his system.

His heart, already strained by the healing he'd done and needing the rest that only sleep could give it – and him – was suddenly stimulated by adrenaline that his body hadn't produced. The great muscle contracted, seizing as the synthetic adrenaline forced it back into full production, the rhythm of its beating going from a gentle lull of sleep to an intense cacophony of forced wakefulness. It skipped a beat, faltering, and then missed another one, and the monitors attached to Ian Brooks started screaming alerts at Fraiser – who suddenly found her young patient in full cardiac arrest.

"Shit!"

She ran to the door, calling for a crash cart, and rolled Ian over onto his back, starting compressions on his chest to try and help his heart find its rhythm once more.

An instant later, a horde of doctors and nurse joined her, and Fraiser started barking out orders to them, baffled at the reaction, but too busy to wonder why it had occired.